


How to Learn Latin in 10 Days

by demon_rum



Category: Eagle of the Ninth - Rosemary Sutcliff, The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:48:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demon_rum/pseuds/demon_rum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus speaks British badly; Esca's Latin is even worse. Luckily this has never caused them any problems before. Now, however, grammatically incorrect and highly seditious graffiti has sprung up all over the town of Calleva, and Marcus has just 10 days to teach Esca Latin before the Tribune Placidus comes investigating...</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Learn Latin in 10 Days

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Eagle RBB, filling the art prompt found here: http://the-little-owl.livejournal.com/159760.html. Based off Monty Python's ROMANES EUNT DOMUS sketch in Life of Brian. Notes and Latin translations at the end (many words can be translated within the context of the story itself and so are not listed in the notes). Please keep in mind that although there's no sex or violence here, there is a tremendous amount of obscenity and grammatical geekiness. Story is canon era, but characters are not (one key difference: in this fic Marcus speaks terrible British and Esca speaks even worse Latin.) Everything is really, really cracked.

**Day One: Latin – a vibrant, modern language**

Uncle Aquila's slaves had spent the entire week prior to the _Nemoralia_ complaining about the possibility of not receiving the day off and what a cruel blow it would be, and how unheard of it was in good society to thus neglect one's household, and how badly they were overworked anyway. It would be an offense against the Good Goddess herself! None of it was remotely true, of course; Uncle always gave them the day off for all applicable slave festivals (plus the most popular public festivals, the major British holidays, local and regional religious events, traditional family occasions, and any day when they happened to be too loud and he was struggling with a particularly thorny part of his _History of Siege Warfare_ – frankly, in Marcus' opinion his uncle's slaves seemed to spend almost a full third of their waking hours on holiday and another third complaining about the unheard-of possibility of missing the next local Procession to the Stream to Honor This One Nymph Who Bathed Here Once).

He gave his own slave the day off as well – not that he expected Esca to spend much time huddled in the cool marble temple with his cloak pulled over his head, praying to a Roman goddess who probably actually cared about slaves, but primarily about ones who brought her coins and floral arrangements. No, he just supposed that Esca needed some time away from his poor crippled master as much as Poor Crippled Master needed some time away from his frustratingly-healthy bodyslave.

So Marcus gave Esca all the coins he could scrounge up – 2 _sesterces_ , 9 _asses_ , a pathetic sum which Esca had the dignity to sneer at before pocketing it anyway – and shooed him out the door.

“I do not wish to be seen you until the morning of tomorrow, and I hope when you are come back home it's with very big hangover or very fun story. Maybe one that doesn't have jail, magistrate, or anything bad that gets you all hung.”

Esca smiled slightly, which was about as much as Marcus could ever get out of the slave anyways so he decided to count it as a win (unless Esca was just sneering at his master's command of British – always a possibility). He saluted in his own careless fashion and without any further ado started down the dusty road in the direction of Calleva. The Centurion's heart twinged at his slave's light, confident footsteps, and the gait that would never go astray because of a disobedient leg.

Still, no point in moping. He now had a few uninterrupted hours to practice his own clumsy footsteps and Marcus felt hopeful that tomorrow, with only minimal assistance, he might be able to take his first post-surgery walk into town.

~*~

The next morning Marcus woke early and decided on a stroll to the lake behind the villa. The summer air was still cool and fresh, and he enjoyed the luxury of having time alone. Owning a bodyslave improved his life in any number of ways but occasionally he wished he could have more time to himself; he would never be one of those people who could forget (or ignore) the close presence of another human being the way many citizens did with their households.

It was not meant to be. No sooner had he rounded the corner of the far barn than Marcus nearly stumbled over Esca, who was hunched over a bucket of water and appeared to be busily scrubbing at his arms. Master and slave stared at each other in surprise for a long moment before Esca glanced away and returned to his impromptu partial bath. The Brigante's pale skin was stained with reddish-purple blotches; was it from a secret ritual at the temple of Diana? A native custom? Marcus decided against asking – like all Romans, he had a healthy fear of forbidden religious knowledge – and instead commented on how un-hungover Esca appeared to be.

“It's not terribly hard to avoid the side effects of drinking if you're at all smart about it,” Esca shrugged. He acted as if he had quaffed his share of mead but opted not to bother with the residual headache. ( _Esca was the type who could probably get away with it, too_ , Marcus thought sourly.)

“Well then, if you are felt good I have make up my mind – I shall go to walk to Calleva after the breakfast, and I need you to be coming with me as if my leg hurts too much.”

Was that surprise that flickered across the Briton's face? Concern? Whatever the emotion, it was already gone, smothered by Esca's perpetually stubborn demeanor. He nodded roughly, gave his purple knuckles one last brisk scrub, and then toweled dry with a scrap of old tunic.

“I'll go and make sure your boots are fit to be seen in public then, Roman.”

~*~

Although the journey to Calleva took longer than he had privately hoped and although his stamina was far below what it had been in healthier days, Marcus only had to lean on Esca's shoulder once. His leg twinged and wobbled occasionally, but it never once seized up with the sharp jangling pain that he had grown so accustomed to. And he was on his feet! Walking slowly through the town, a proud Roman citizen going for a stroll attended by a single slave. No more hobbling like a crippled beggar, no more riding in a littre like some soft magistrate's wife, no more hesitation with every –

What was everybody looking at?

The bored villagers, many sporting the hangover Esca had avoided, milled about as they pointed at buildings and murmured. Calleva was such a sleepy town that this happened nearly every time some new graffiti sprang up in celebration of a gladiator or a brothel or a new olive oil ( _Direct from Lusitania! Taste the Seaside in Every Drop!_ ). But this morning there was an edge to the murmurs. Then the crowd in front of the public stables parted long enough for Marcus to see blocky capital letters, clumsily executed – if it was graffiti, it certainly wasn't done by a professional … And then he recognized the vivid reddish-purple paint. The same color that his very own bodyslave had been hastily scrubbing off his arms just two hours earlier.

Marcus forgot his leg as he elbowed his way forward, praying to the Lord of Light that the words were something along the lines of AVE DIANA or ESCA HIC ERAT. No such luck, of course.

ROMANES EUNT DOMUS

He shook his head in confusion. “The people called Romanes, they go … the house? I do not know what it wishes to say.”

Esca looked momentarily concerned before shaking his head and correcting Marcus almost gently. “I read Latin poorly, even more poorly than you speak British, but I can read capitals. It says, 'Romans go home'. Does it not, Master?”

 _Master_. That sealed it. Esca only called Marcus 'master' (rather than 'Centurion' or 'hey you, Roman') when he was being very, very polite or had been very, very bad.

Marcus decided to play dumb. He gave a little shrug and turned toward home. “Yes, you are right then, it does. Well. My leg is getting hurt and that maybe just confuse me.” He sent up another quick prayer to Mithras, asking that Esca wouldn't see through the Colosseum-sized hole in that bit of logic. “We must to go home now.”

 

 

**Day Two: 1 st and 2nd declension nouns**

The next day the whole of Calleva was buzzing with rumors: rumors of what the mysterious and somewhat-incorrect graffiti might mean (besides the obvious, of course), rumors as to who had committed the deed (the prevailing opinion was that gladiators had done it, the rationale being that gladiators were exciting and therefore responsible for anything exciting that happened), and rumors that a certain Tribune Placidus would be coming up from Glevum to investigate.

The notion of Placidus investigating sedition against Rome – a crime punishable by death, and not generally in a clean or quick sort of way – was enough to distract Marcus from the knowledge that his faithful bodyslave hated all Romans, and hated them so deeply that he was willing to risk a slow, bloody death just to make his views known.

He had slept with a knife under his pillow last night. He wasn't proud of that.

He was, however, proud that Esca didn't seem to realize that Marcus knew that Esca had spent the _Nemoralia_ causing the sort of trouble that involved jail, magistrates, _and_ the possibility of being hung (or worse). Unless, of course, Esca _did_ realize that Marcus knew but was playing dumb, and maybe Esca was playing dumb himself in response so as not to let Marcus know that Esca knew that Marcus knew …

It was all enough to make the centurion's head spin and not in a festive, _Ave Diana!_ sort of way. What kept him focused was the knowledge that in a little more than a week – if he was lucky – Placidus might be asking his bodyslave some very pointed questions regarding his thoughts on Rome, Romans, the role of the Romans in Britain and, most awkwardly, his grasp of Latin grammar.

That afternoon Marcus summoned Esca to his bedroom.

“The centurion needs me for something?”

 _He's stopped calling me 'master,' which probably means he doesn't know that I know – unless he does know that I know and is trying not to let on that – oh for fucks sake_ , Marcus thought.

“Yes. I has understood that you and I are always speaking British for each other,” Marcus said (with terrible grammar and worse accent).

“That's true. I actually can't remember the last time we spoke Latin,” Esca replied. (Also in British – better grammar and posh accent with a northern twang.)

“Well, we shall not do that no more,” Marcus declared (still in British, in case Esca didn't quite understand). “I have needed a slave who talks good Latin to any guests come to visit.” _Preferably in the next week or so_. “From now we must talk in my language together.”

Esca frowned so deeply – or perhaps, so suspiciously – that for a moment Marcus worried that he had already given everything away. But then the slave shrugged and replied in his best Latin,

“Those are making mine master glad, thus I am saying it.”

Marcus blanched. _O Mithras, it's worse than I thought_.

~*~

That evening, after supper had been cleared away, they had their first formal lesson. Clearly, a single week of speaking Latin would not improve things to the point of fooling a smooth-cheeked and suspicious Tribune, so Marcus was going to have to teach Esca a little more directly.

Currently, Esca was staring at a wax tablet and sullenly muttering “ _agricola_ , _agricola, agricolae, agricolae, agricolam, agricola_.”

“And second declension?”

The slave rolled his eyes. “ _Servus_ , _serve, servi, servo, servum, servo_.”

“Good! Do you know the plurals to these two words?”

The Brigante gave his master a look of pure and white-hot loathing. “Sa. Na. Sa.”

Marcus tried to smile encouragingly. “Use Latin, Esca! Remember?”

The glare grew even hotter, if such a thing was possible. Eventually, as responding under the cruelest of tortures, he hissed “Yes. No. Yes.”

“Excellent!” The centurion's grin fooled neither of them. “So the plural of _agricola_ is …”

“ _Agricolae_.”

“And the plural of _servus_ is … ”

“ _Serves_.”

“Try again.”

“ _Serv-es_.” Esca pronounced the word slower as if that would help matters. (Or possibly as if Marcus was too stupid to hear correctly the first time.) But judging by the look on the Briton's face, Marcus could sense the beginnings of doubt …

“ _Serv-i_. It's a difficult one to remember,” he lied. (The 2 nd declension was nearly the easiest part of Latin, but that wasn't important. Yet.) “The plural of _servus_ is _servi_.”

“ _Serv-i_.”

“Great, you've got it. It's just that easy – remember that any word that ends with an - _us_ in the singular will end in - _i_ in the plural. Well, that's true for 2 nd declension nouns at any rate. Nominative and vocative cases only, of course.”

Esca, who clearly had not understood a word of that, just glared at the ceiling.

 

 

**Day Three: present tense verbs**

Esca's nouns were terrible; his verbs were atrocious. He routinely confused the five conjugations, jumbled up 2nd and 3rd person endings as if they were meaningless sounds rather than significant grammatical markers, and used the present tense for any action regardless of when it happened. After breakfast he and Marcus had tried to hold a conversation about a missing pair of boots; it had gone something like this:

“Did you remember to bring my _caligae_ to the cobbler, Esca? I can't seem to find them anywhere.”

“I am doing it yesterday.”

“Today? You mean, you will do it today?”

“Na. I am doing it recently. Yesterday.” Esca pointed behind him, which Marcus assumed was done to indicate some sort of past-tense-ish meaning.

“Um … good. So the cobbler has them, then?”

“Sa. They all are fixing the _caliga_. _Calig-ae_.” Esca corrected himself himself almost proudly. ( _Well, he's learning something_ , Marcus reasoned.) “The cobbler are all getting the _caligae_ yesterday, they are fixing the _caligae_ today, tomorrow I am carrying the _caligae_ to the house and you are all wearing them again.”

Marcus had no response to this speech other than to propose a walk to the river. The distance was hard on his leg – nearly a mile in each direction – so they paused to do a little fishing once they reached the banks. The actual purpose of the trip, of course, was to get Esca away from the rest of the household so no one would become suspicious when they heard him conjugating over and over.

“Finish this verb, now. Present tense. _Amo, amas, amat_ …”

“ … _amatabula, amaverpa, amavissississimus_.”

“Esca! Those aren't even words. Also one of them's very crude sounding – you ought to be a bit more respectful. Again: _amo, amas, amat_ …”

Esca promptly finished in British: “we all love, you all love, they all love. There, verb done. Let's go see if we can catch a couple of trout for Sassticca.”

“No! Do it in Latin!” Marcus resisted the urge to stomp his feet like a child.

“I don't know it in Latin! And why should I, Roman? You people took so much – now you want to torment my every breath with your stupid language as well?”

“Latin, goddammit!”

“Why?”

The centurion pulled rank. He hated to do it, but Esca didn't know exactly how much was at stake. “Because. Because I am your master and I said so, that's why. Now do it.”

It hurt a little to see Esca pull himself up short; _It's all for the greater good_ , he reasoned with himself. _It had better be_.

His slave's next words (in Latin – success!) were slow, clumsy, and furious. “I am not knowing – whence are you wanting of me? Whence is caring about it? Whence am I learning this words? ”

“ _Why_ are you learning these words, you mean?” (Esca apparently used 'whence' as an all-purpose word to begin any question, no matter what he was asking.)

“Sa. Yes.”

“Because Latin is important. Because we Romans speak Latin, and because despite the popular stereotype that we bring nothing but slavery and taxes and, uh, cultural assimilation … anyway, speaking Latin will help you take advantage of the many positive benefits of being part of the Roman Empire.”

The Briton laughed at Marcus' speech. It was not a good laugh. “And whence have you Romanes ever doing for us?”

“Apart from sanitation, medicine, education, wine, public order, and irrigation? What about roads? The fresh water system? Public health?”

“San-i-ta-tion! Ha!” Esca spat out the unfamiliar word as if it were a piece of meat gone bad.

“Sewers are crucial to public health!” The centurion could not believe he was losing this argument. He shouldn't have even been having it. A firmer master would have knocked his slave down by now, but Marcus didn't dare – and not just because he didn't like violence towards subordinates. There was a distinct possibility that Esca would hit back.

“ _Romanes_ – na, na, _Roman-i_ –” Esca corrected himself “– are making sewers because they are having a very great need. There are so many of you, and you are shat out all over the place.”

Marcus stared mutely at Esca, overwhelmed by the image of a colossal Roma Dea striding the landscape with thunderous footsteps, pausing occasionally to squat and deposit a handful of small, fully dressed legionnaires. When he finally realized what Esca had intended to say he added another item to his growing list of Latin My Slave Needs To Learn, And Fast.

_Active vs. passive verbs. We should definitely cover that at some point._

**Day Four: demonstratives**

The mood over breakfast was sour. Marcus had written out the many forms of this/that (all in capitals, remembering his slave's limitations with reading) but when he showed it to Esca, Esca played dumb, smiling blankly at everything his master said. Trying to prove that he was just as stubborn, Marcus doubled down and forced his slave to listen to the sing-song chant every young schoolboy learned by heart: “ _Hic – haec – hoc, huius – huius – huius, huic – huic – huic_ …” Esca's smile just broadened as he played with his oatmeal. Clearly he thought the centurion was mad.

That afternoon, as he limped past the stables, Marcus could hear the gentle _whisking_ of a currycomb and the contented snorting of a horse. He also could have sworn he heard a rhythmic muttering, keeping time with the currycomb:

“ _Hic – haec – hoc, huius – huius – huius, huic – huic – huic, hunc – hanc – hoc, hoc – hac – hoc_ …”

 

**Day Five: asking questions (and answering them!)**

“It come to my attention that yours vocabulary in … um, words that you use for to ask questions with – anyway, is not much good.”

“The centurion speaks such good British, I would almost think him a native but for the accent.”

“Shut up. You know what I am meaning.”

“Interrogatives, master?”

“Yes. Thank.”

“And what do you think I am lacking in Latin interrogatives? Breadth of vocabulary, or depth?”

“Shut up more. You are now showing off to me.”

“Perhaps.”

“We are going to say in Latin!”

“If you prefer.”

There was a pause while they both adjusted mentally.

“So, Esca, today our focus will be on grasping the basics of how to ask questions correctly. Does that sound straightforward to you?”

“Na.”

“Say that again.”

“Yes?”

“Good. So if I was going to inquire into the reason for doing something, instead of using the British word 'why,' I would use the Latin _cur_. Can you say that?”

“Yes.”

“ … No, I mean – just say the word.”

“The word?”

“Esca!”

“ _Cur._ ”

“Thank you. So. First word: _cur_.”

“ _Cur_.”

“Right. And if you want to know 'who' did something you would say _quis_. Can you repeat _quis_ for me?”

“ _Cur_?”

“Goddammit, because I – hey, you used _cur_ correctly!”

“Yes, O My Master.”

“I guess I'm glad you're learning something. Now _quis_ ; remember it means 'who'.”

“ _Quis_.”

“Now if you want to ask 'what' it's a little more complicated … in fact, it's a lot more complicated. Forget it.”

“I am forgetting it already.”

“Do you know the word for 'when'?”

“Yes, O My Master. _Ubi_.”

“Well – true, you can use _ubi_ , but _ubi_ can also mean 'where' so it gets confusing. It's probably a better choice if you use _cum_.”

“Use _cum_?”

“Yes – _cum_ is always good.”

“Hahaha! Really? Ha ha ha ha ha!”

“Stop that! Why is that funny?”

“It is just – no, na, it is – hahaha! You Romanes, you are not even knowing whence you are saying. 'When' is _cum_? _Cum_?”

“What are you laughing at?”

“I am needing to say it in British, O My Master. Sa?”

“Sa.”

They mentally adjusted back out of Latin.

“Roman, I am laughing because if all the Latin I end up learning is as obscene as the Latin you are currently teaching me, I will be fluent in no time whatsoever.”

“Wait – I still do not understand it. Why?”

“ _Cur,_ if you please _._ ”

 

 

**Day Six: passive voice**

Placidus made his grand arrival to Calleva. Stephanos reported over dinner that the Tribune had marched around sternly, stared at whatever traces of ROMANES EUNT DOMI were not already obliterated by newer graffiti, dictated notes to his secretary, questioned the three slaves at the public stables (rather harshly, with the occasional slap) and all four of the local gladiators (much more politely), then muttered something about “rebellious Brits” before retiring to the mayor's house for the evening.

Under normal circumstances this would have worried Marcus to no end; thanks to the previous day's “lesson” with Esca, however, he now had a strategy that would hopefully teach as much Latin as possible, as quickly as possible.

It wouldn't be pretty.

Master and slave huddled together in Marcus' bedroom, frowning over the wax tablets the centurion had carefully inscribed hours before. Two lines of verbs marched neatly down the wax; on the left tablet, active forms, on the right their passive counterparts.

“Here I written out for you these words. One list are active, the next is passive, so you will see how the words are looking. Is most important, to know these. Elsewise you can say things you do not wish and humans will not understand your meaning.”

“Wouldn't you rather that we spoke Latin together, O My Master?”

“Na, I am stop that. It is harder that I talk like this, but easier to you and that is the best part.”

A look of – chagrin? gratitude? – flitted across Esca's face. He nodded briefly. “If that is your choice, Centurion, then so be it. Perhaps it will make learning this accursed language easier.”

“Maybe so also will these tablets. See them here? See the forms of the words, and how they must end in each case?”

“Yes, I see them …”

“Now look you at a word so you will know its differences.”

CACAT / CACATUR

“Are you knowing what those words say?”

The slave grinned broadly; it was the first time Marcus had seen him smile so openly in months. “O Master, I think the first says 'he shits' and the second says 'he is shat out.' Did I read it correctly?”

“You are,” Marcus smiled back.

“And you are wanting me to learn these words … why?”

“Because you must needs learn them, for some reasons, and because you were laughing with _cum_ before, so maybe you like Latin if it be dirty!”

“If it _is_ dirty,” Esca corrected gently, turning back to the list.

GLUBIS / GLUBERIS

“You peel back – you are getting peeled back? I'm not sure I understand this verb.”

Marcus blushed, made a quick 'hand job' gesture, and then blushed again.

“Oh yes, that's right! You know, there is a certain poetic quality to your language that I failed to recognize previously.”

“Sa, we do have many word for rude things.”

“Some might argue that it's one of your more appealing characteristics.”

“How much we swear?”

“Not just quantity – quality, too. It's tremendously vivid.”

“And there is word for each thing you can imagine.”

IRRUMATO / IRRUMATOR

“Good god. I've never actually seen that written down before.”

“When you are much good at Latin, I shall give to you some of our most famous poet, Catullus. He use that word. Very good stuff, but not for children to read!”

Esca smiled again but seemed distracted, nodding along as if he only half heard. Then he abruptly snapped the wax tablets shut and stood. “I must go, then. Clearly I have much to learn before I am good enough at your 'civilized' language, Master.”

He walked out of the room before Marcus could protest, taking the list of verbs with him.

 

 

**Day Seven: 3 rd declension nouns**

Marcus sent Sassticca to nose around and find out when Placidus would be arriving. Sassticca, of course, was more than happy to take a day off and leave the men to cold cuts and leftovers. Uncle Aquila nodded vaguely when he gave permission, being rather more absorbed in the siege of Jerusalem than in family affairs, but there was something about the set of his shoulders and the glint in his eye that worried the Centurion.

 _My Uncle knows_ , Marcus realized. _I don't know when, I don't know how, and I definitely don't know what it means, but somehow he has figured it all out. That's worrying._

He wandered off to the atrium, unsure of how to deal with this new development, when Esca startled him by appearing from behind a pillar.

“Do we having more Latin today? I am learning all from yesterday already.”

“Really?” Marcus actually took a step back. “You've learned it all?”

“Yes, all. Most. Here, I am speaking for you some of those verbs.”

“Not here!” Grabbing his slave by the elbow, Marcus dragged them both outside. “Esca, those words are … really dirty. Not for mixed company and definitely not for recital in the atrium.”

Esca smirked. “Mixed company? Are you ever hearing Sassticca when I am breaking things in her kitchen? She is cursing better than the gladiators then!”

They paused outside at the fountain. Marcus glanced around warily, in case a troupe of vestal virgins wandered past. The coast was clear; he dropped his voice to a whisper nevertheless.

“Alright, tell me what you know.”

The Briton cleared his throat dramatically, as if preparing to deliver a speech before the Senate. “Hear this, O My Master, a type one verb _cacare_ : I shit – you shit – he shits – we shit – you all shit – they shit. Now a type two verb _mingere_ : I piss – you piss – he pisses – we piss – you all piss – they piss. Now a type three verb _futuere_ : I fuck – you fuck – he fucks – we fuck – you all fuck, they fuck!

“These I am saying to you in whence you are calling 'active voice'. Now I am saying them to you thus in whence you are calling 'passive voice': I am getting fucked – you are getting fucked – he is getting fucked – we are getting fucked – you all are getting fucked – they are getting fucked. Thus is mine Latin verbs.

“I am also learning all my nouns. The one declension it is easy: _verpa_ , _verpa, verpae, verpae, verpam, verpa_. The two is thus: _cunnus_ , _cunne, cunni, cunno, cunnum, cunno_. Now you are teaching me the three declension nouns, sa?”

Marcus wanted to applaud this effort; he also wanted to hide in a cave for a week. He was now the proud owner of the most selectively-literate bodyslave in all Britannia. (And Esca's singsong chanting of _cunnus, cunne, cunni_ would ring through his ears for weeks at the least opportune moments.)

“Um … 3rd declension nouns?”

“Sa, sa. Yes. You are teaching me them now, please.”

A quick scroll through the more juvenile portions of Marcus' mind revealed almost nothing helpful. _Cinaedus_  – _no, 2 nd_. _Coleus_ – _also 2 nd_. _Culpa_ _and_ _mentula_ _are 1 st and __landica_  – _Lord of Light, I am not teaching him that one_. _Culus_  … _merda_  … _vomer!_

“ _Vomer_. Perfect. Let's go somewhere, uh, very far away from where people are, and you can start learning how to decline _vomer_.”

 

 

**Day Eight: subjunctive and imperative commands**

As soon as he woke up Marcus summoned Esca. “Let you come in here for the moment.”

Esca eventually appeared, bleary-eyed, amidst much grumbling. “Sa?”

“If you please, go and ask Sassticca if she come talk to me before the breakfast.”

“Sa, I'll ask after we've all eaten and she's a bit more awake.”

“No – I wish to be talking to her before the breakfast.”

“Sa, afterwards.”

“No, Esca. I wish for her now.”

“Later.”

“Please.”

“Na.”

“Go! Go, go now, go!”

Esca frowned and slunk off, only to reappear two minutes later with a smirk. “Sassticca says that she will talk to you after breakfast, and not a minute before.”

“Fine. Get mine boots. You hurry up.”

After breakfast, which seemed to take an hour, Marcus was finally able to corner Sassticca and learned that the Tribune Placidus would visit in two very short days. He demanded access to the household slaves (for interrogation purposes) and a formal dinner (as was owed to him, a high-ranking official). Images of Esca being slapped around by the Tribune's bodyguards made his mouth go dry; the very idea of his slave in chains, dragged into the town square and whipped or … Marcus needed some fresh air.

He stomped out to the barn, taking deep breaths and reminding himself that technically there was only so much Placidus could do to another man's property. All Marcus had to do was put his foot down, point out who owned Esca, remember that Uncle Aquila's name was on the paperwork …

_Shit!_

Esca was in the stables as usual, fussing over the horses. He greeted his master with a short jerk of his head before returning to the currycomb, which was evidently much more interesting than the man who (almost) owned him. “Are you up for a ride this morning, Roman? If we could catch a trout or two for dinner Sassticca might even let us—”

“No! No more riding, no more fishing. You are going to sit, learn Latin, and do as you're told for once.” Marcus was done with worrying about the Tribune, done with fumbling his way through a British tongue he couldn't quite wrap his head around, and done with coddling one recalcitrant slave. “Put down the comb, go get me a tablet and stylus, and come back immediately.”

Esca put the comb down, slowly. He shook his head almost as in disapproval. “You are speaking almost bossy today, Roman. Master. It is strange to me whence you talk so sharp – ”

“Yes, that is what actual masters do – they order their slaves about, and their slaves are smart enough to obey them,” Marcus snapped.

Esca ducked his head. His tone sounded almost hurt and Marcus' heart sank. “Not you, Centurion. You are never saying 'go' and 'hurry up' to me. You are being a different sort of master than that, at most times.”

Marcus caved. “That is because I do not be wishing to sound like a seagull all the day long, saying _eeee_ , _eeee_ , _eeee_!” Esca gave him such a baffled look that he cheered back up. He would deal with Placidus when he had to; in the meantime teasing his slave was much more fun than ordering him about, and speaking British wasn't the worst thing in the world. “This is a joke from mine army friends. Our first commander was shouting ' _go_ , _go_ , _go_ ' all the time because we were not running as fast as he wished, but he shouts in Latin of course, running after me shouting ' _i_ , _i_ , _i_ ' and thus we named him 'Seagull'.”

Esca laughed at the joke, shaking his head at strange Romans and their strange sense of humor, and the unpleasant mood between them vanished. Marcus had hoped to transition this into a lesson on forming verbal imperatives, especially the difference between _eunt_ and _i_ and _ite_ , but instead they spent the rest of the morning fishing and occasionally sneaking up on one other while shrieking like a bird.

 

 

**Day Nine: 4 th and 5th declension nouns; locative case; perfect, imperfect, future and subjunctive verbs**

Marcus ran out of obscenities. Esca ran out of interest.

“I should really teach you how you form 4th declension nouns. The 5th declension can be confusing, but you really only use it for the words _res_  and _dies_ , so don't worry about it. Anyway, 4th nouns are characterized by a root stem ending in 'u' that generally takes the form of a long vowel, but occasionally – you're not listening to me.”

“No.”

“Fair enough, the 4th declension doesn't have interesting words like _vomer_ or _culus_ , but it does have _domus_ , which I think we can agree is very important!”

“I am agreeing to you, Roman.”

“Even more importantly for the word _domus_ , it very frequently takes a case called the locative. The locative is rarely used with words other than place descriptors, and the locative case usually looks identical to the genitive.”

“Yes, I am agreeing more.”

“Er – good. So, locative generally looks genitive, although strangely enough with _domus_ if you want to  indicate a more directional sense such as by saying 'go home,' instead of saying ' _i domi_ ' you would actually use the idiomatic ' _i domum_ ,' which is technically called an accusative of place to which, but most people just call it locative since it has a locational sense.”

Esca nodded sagely, as if Marcus was explaining things helpfully (which he wasn't) rather than just babbling out grammar rules he hadn't though about for 10 years (which he was).

“So that's how you form locatives. Do you want to learn how to form the perfect tense of verbs? Those are the verbs talking about action that happened in the past and is now finished – ”

“No.”

“There are also imperfect verbs, very useful for describing actions that happened in the past but are still – ”

“No.”

“Actions that will happen in the future?”

“No.”

“Actions that may or may not happen?”

“Most certain no.”

“Dammit!” Marcus shoved the tablets at Esca; Esca shoved them back. They glared at each other over a pile of grammar and obscenities. Finally Marcus rolled his eyes – he knew when he was beaten (and he was almost always beaten). “Look, Esca, I'd better be frank with you. The Tribune Placidus is investigating that graffiti we saw in town after the _Nemoralia_. He's asking all the local slaves to prove they can speak at least somewhat decent Latin, and if you can't satisfy him that you do, he could make things very unpleasant. Very.”

“Ah! This is why you are teaching me Latin. I am understanding you now.”

“You used _cur_ correctly again!”

“Sa, I am learning many things.”

“And if Placidus asks you to say 'Romans go home' you will tell him – do you know what to do? Because just for once you really need to get this correct.”

Esca grew quiet for a long moment, then slowly said, “ROMANES – na, ROMANI-I – and EUNT is meaning 'they go' but I am wanting imp-er-a-tive so I am saying ITE, not EUNT – and DOMUS I am needing to say as … I do not remember.”

Marcus leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Locative?”

“Sa, loc-a-tive, DOMI, but is being a special word here, and I am wanting to say – DOMUM?”

“Yes, you've got it, good – and now if the Tribune asks you if you wrote the graffiti, don't confess but just tell him that you would have written 'ROMANI ITE DOMUM' and he won't have you whipped.”

“Confess, O Master?”

“Oh come on, Esca. I saw the ink all over your arms and all over the wall. It's a pretty rare color. You're lucky I don't bother getting worried about that sort of thing,” he replied loftily, ignoring the knife-under-the-pillow incident. “But why would you do such a thing? Don't you know what a Tribune could do to you for something like that?”

The Briton just shrugged. He didn't seem embarrassed or concerned about being found out. “I am not saying why I am doing that thing. It is not such importance. But you are not needing to be worrying about me, Roman. Placidus is not beating me. I am fine.”

~*~

Esca refused to budge from this conviction that he would be fine; he continued to remain unconcerned for the rest of the day, despite his master's persistent attempts to worry him. Finally Marcus gave up and slunk off to invade his uncle's near-sacred study.

“This had better be good, Nephew. I'm editing.”

“Sorry, Uncle, but I'm in a tight spot and not sure it's all going to work out in the end. I may need your help.”

“I very much doubt that! You are a capable enough young man, more resourceful than I might have given credit for before actually meeting you in person, and possessing a relatively sharp mind. Besides, I am quite fond of you as a nephew.” With that non-sequitur he set down his pen distractedly, searching around through the various ink pots until he found one holding an ink of a particularly vivid reddish-purple hue. Taking up a different pen, he proceeded to make large, dramatic corrections throughout the text before him, muttering as he went:

“Bad, wrong, bad, especially bad, good but clumsily expressed, very bad indeed–”

Marcus swallowed hard before interrupting. “While I am glad to have, uh, earned your affections, I am still going to need your help. This matter may be beyond me altogether.”

“Nonsense. You'll figure it out.”

“No really, Uncle, this is a matter involving that blasted Tribune Placidus, and possible sedition against the Empire itself, and I'm afraid that Esca's all mixed up in it and if I can't get him some sort of …”

He stared at the reddish-purple correction ink Uncle Aquila continued to calmly scrawl all over his _History of Siege Warfare_. And recognized it.

 _Oh_.

The pen stopped and a not entirely comfortable silence filled the study. Finally Uncle Aquila looked over his shoulder at his nephew, almost shamefacedly.

“Anyway, it's not my fault your slave can't speak Latin properly.”

 

 

**Day Ten: Putting it all together (or: now you, too, can speak Latin!)**

“The ink came from you?”

“Sure – why not? I've got lots and I'm not using all of it, although maybe I should be if all my Greek is as incorrect as this section's turning out to be. Mix it together with a bit of white paint and eureka, graffiti that everyone will notice.”

“You did this intentionally.”

“Oh yes. Don't start worrying that Esca stole it or anything.”

“But what were you thinking? You could have gotten him in serious trouble. Lord of Light, he could be in trouble anyways! And you … you encouraged this?”

“I am not the type to engage in _random_ hooliganism, Marcus. I paid him to do it. Please give me at least a little credit.”

Marcus' leg was beginning to ache. So was his head. “You paid Esca. To write seditious graffiti all over town. For no reason.”

“No, not for no reason!” Uncle Aquila threw his pen down in disgust, spattering reddish-purple ink on the wall. “Calleva is boring, Marcus, and I was bored. So I paid Esca to write the graffiti, and I supplied the ink, and the next day the town was temporarily interesting!”

Marcus stared at his Uncle, aghast. Uncle Aquila stared back.

“But … but Placidus is coming here tomorrow and if he figures out what happened it will all land on Esca's back. Didn't you think about that, in between being bored and thinking up new ways to complicate my life?”

His uncle waved a hand in the air as if shooing away flies. “No, no, no. You're being overly dramatic. The slave was just following orders and had no real choice in the matter. I'm the one to blame, and frankly I don't see myself getting arrested and exiled anytime soon. No, your Uncle Aquila is too well-connected, too well-known, and too stubborn to be worth hassling. It will all work out, Marcus. Now leave me alone?”

Marcus left. He had one last lesson to teach, besides.

~*~

The noble Tribune Placidus, smooth-cheeked and carefully manicured, had clearly been raised by a competent staff of nurses, tutors, and valets. When he refused the boiled fish with eggs he did so politely. When he turned up his nose at the sour local wine he did so with the utmost sophistication. When he rummaged around through the communal bowl of nuts and chose out all the almonds he wiped his hands on a napkin first. He had class, of a sort.

Normally, after the dishes were cleared away, the guests and family would enjoy a bit of private drinking time while the slaves had their own dinner in the kitchen. Tonight however the slaves came back and stood next to the table in an awkward sort of group. A sterner owner might have trained them to line up smartly or at least pay attention; these slaves were clearly part of the _familia Aquilae_. Marcipor slouched and fiddled with his belt, tunic, and sandals; Esca stood ramrod straight and stared at the wall as if he couldn't be bothered; Sassticca had brought her dinner bowl and was munching loudly on a celery stalk; Stephanos kept hissing at the rest of the group to act respectable. They all ignored the Tribune.

Finally Placidus began to tap the palm of his hand with the wax tablets he had brought along for interviews. This got Uncle Aquila's attention and he was able to eventually able to get Stephanos' attention in return, at which point Stephanos began criticizing the rest of the slaves for their inability to pay attention. Marcus poured himself another glass of wine and prayed for an earthquake.

Sassticca was the first to be interviewed. Placidus asked her how long she'd spoken Latin, she replied “45 years, Noble Tribune, and nobody's ever had a reason to complain about it,” and took a large mouthful bite of celery, crunching loudly for effect. Placidus glanced down at his tablets, up at the celery, down at the tablets again and turned to Marcipor.

“How about you, Boy?”

Marcipor looked irritated but bobbed his head politely. Nothing ever bothered him for long. “I've spoken the language my whole life, Tribune. I can also speak Greek if you're interested?”

“I am not.”

“Then I won't speak any for you.”

Silence fell over the small room. Placidus frowned, Uncle Aquila gave his slave a shifty-eyed look that said _Please, just this once_ and Marcipor eventually added, “Sir.”

The Tribune glanced over at Stephanos. “I believe you are the valet?”

“Oh yes, Noble Tribune, yes I am indeed and let me tell you what a pleasure it's been to serve my dear, dear master Aquila for all these—”

“No need.”

Stephanos gave Marcipor a look that said _That's how it's done_. Marcipor sniffed loudly.

Finally Placidus turned his cool gaze to Esca, who gazed back much too boldly. The Tribune smiled as if he already knew the outcome of the conversation and held out the tablets. Esca took it warily and opened it; inside, written in capitals, were the words ROMANES EUNT DOMUS.

“Tell me, Slave, how would you say this phrase? Is there anything you would change?”

Marcus finished his wine. In his mind he could picture Esca panicking, letting his mouth run too freely, raining down curses upon all things Roman and being dragged off in chains behind Placidus' carriage …

“I am … not like this, O Tribune.”

“Explain, Slave. Take your time. Be thorough.”

Esca cleared his throat a little. He seemed nervous. “I am wanting to be writing it ROMANI ITE DOMUM, Tribune.”

“And why, pray tell, would you say ITE rather than EUNT?”

If his plan was to trap Esca with grammar, it didn't work. “ITE and EUNT are both meaning 'they go' but ITE is imp-er-a-tive. Thus I am using it.” (Marcus wanted to stand on the table and cheer, but that would have been a bit obvious.)

Placidus' voice was calm and deliberate. “Just now you've said both 'wanting' – which leads me to think that you approve of this sentiment – and 'using,' which indicates you might have actually employed such words in the recent past, under similar circumstances. Affirmative?”

Esca paled; this was the real trap. Marcus could tell that he didn't understand the Tribune's elaborate language even as he recognized the challenge to his Latin skills. Time to try and intervene.

“Look here, Tribune, if you're saying that my slave is disloyal to Rome I'm going to get angry.”

Placidus whirled around to stop Marcus but Esca spoke too quickly. “Sa, is true, I am never saying such things. Romans are good.”

The tribune's eyebrows went up. “Do tell. How exactly are the Romans good?”

“They are making wine and health and peace. They are building sewers and san-i-ta-tion and olive oil. And I am speaking Latin to you now, Tribune, and my Latin is good. I am now even reciting a poem for you, when you are wanting it.”

“You know poetry, do you, Boy?”

“Yes. Good poetry. Catullus. The best.”

The other slaves (and Uncle Aquila) all glanced at one another in surprise. Tribune Placidus rocked back on his heels, waiting to be proved wrong. Marcus braced for the fallout from his desperate, stupid effort to simultaneously teach his Uncle a lesson on meddling with his slave and scare off the Tribune.

Esca tossed his head up proudly. “You are now hearing a poem, O Tribune. “ _Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo, Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi_ ”

Uncle Aquila's mouth sagged open. Stephanos looked as though he would faint, explode, or both. The noble Tribune Placidus blanched, snapped his tablets shut and made for the door.

~*~

“I guess we both learned something from this, Esca.”

“Sa, sa. ROMANI ITE DOMUM. _Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo_. Latin is being a good language in some ways, and I am knowing that now.”

“Your vocabulary has greatly expanded, this is true.”

“And I am not now feeling afraid to speak it!”

“Confidence is also a valuable skill.”

“And your Uncle, he is very … there is a word, I am not knowing it.”

“Impulsive? Vengeful?” Marcus shifted around uncomfortably. Despite the heap of straw that Esca had carefully arranged, the stable floor was still far less comfortable than his bed would have been. (Not that they were going to be allowed back into the house any time soon.)

“Sa. He is looking so red in the dining room, even though he is laughing!”

“I think it was actually Stephanos that landed us here. I can't imagine Uncle actually cares. At any rate it shut up that Tribune, so all for the good.”

“He is not coming back here for me?”

“No, Sassticca heard him muttering something about 'stupid province, could be any of them' to his escort as he stomped out. Ahhh,” he sighed as his leg gave a particularly strong twinge.

“Your leg is hurting.” Esca shifted around the straw and blankets until the spasm eased off. He had surprisingly gentle hands for being such a cranky slave.

“You're pretty good with this, you know?”

“Is easy – I am caring for horses, I am caring for the you.” Esca shrugged. “You are teaching me Latin, I am fixing your leg. So.”

“So.”

“Go and be resting, Roman,” Esca smiled as he stood up. “I am stealing us wine to drink. And if Sassticca is shouting at me for the wine then I am shouting back. And now I am shouting good.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> All translations my own, so feel free blame me for the errors...
> 
> Nemoralia: a slave holiday dedicated to the goddess Diana
> 
> AVE DIANA: HAIL DIANA
> 
> ESCA HIC ERAT: ESCA WAS HERE
> 
> agricola: farmer
> 
> servus: slave
> 
> caligae: boots
> 
> amo, amas, amat: I love, you love, he/she loves
> 
> irrumare: to facefuck or, even less politely (if such a thing is possible), to skullfuck
> 
> verpa: dick
> 
> cunnus: cunt
> 
> cinaedus: catamite, bottom
> 
> coleus: scrotum
> 
> culpa: pussy
> 
> mentula: prick
> 
> landica: clitoris, a word so deviant that it only shows up in ancient graffiti, never books
> 
> culus: anus
> 
> merda: feces
> 
> vomer: cock
> 
> i: go!
> 
> ite: go! (plural, spoken to more than one person)
> 
> eunt: they go
> 
> res: thing
> 
> dies: day
> 
> domus: house
> 
> pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo, Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi: one of Catullus' most famous poems (now), for obvious reasons. Rough translation: "I will sodomize you both and facefuck you, Cocksucker Aurelius and Catamite Furius..."


End file.
